


The Nature of Inviting

by ofMenandStags



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Hannibal, Community: hannibalkink, M/M, Prompt Fill, Rough Sex, Someone Help Will Graham, Top Will, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofMenandStags/pseuds/ofMenandStags
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the prompt: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/2676.html?thread=5060212#cmt5060212</p><p>"Hannibal/Will, violent fucking: Will turns up at Hannibal's house after yet another murder investigation with Jack and the crew. Except he's still half in the killer's state of mind, and the killer they were investigating was a sexual deviant who enjoyed having sex with his victims first before killing them.</p><p>Will comes on to Hannibal and Hannibal encourages him, thinking that Will is this much closer to unveiling his true tendencies. I just want Will to fuck Hannibal violently and just as he's on the brink of killing Hannibal, he comes back to himself and apologizes and starts panicking. Hannibal enjoys the whole episode and later calms Will down saying he enjoyed it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nature of Inviting

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up for this fic: While Hannibal is consenting, it is sort of dub-con. The first bit of the chapter also discusses a killer who rapes his victim in mild detail. 
> 
> Anyways, Enjoy!

  
****

# The Nature of Inviting

****

 

The darkness swirled around the room, it’s thickness almost palpable. It slipped in through dry, cracked lips, and sank deep into his gut, spreading through his blood and brain like an infection. He felt alive and clear headed.

The room was a tomb of gasps and cries, silenced by the weight of his hand around her neck, holding her voice captive in his palm. Beautiful, silky, red fabric that clothed her thin figure was pushed up to her hips as he bonded them, the taste of blood, as red as the fabric that hide her fragile pale skin, on his lips. He could smell her scent in his nose as he buried it in her hair, the aroma of sweet perfume and fear.

His voice was soothing and gentle in her ear as he tried to calm her silenced screams. His thrusts we’re fast and deep and he paused every time he sank into her, feeling the way his hips cupped her pale, round buttocks, taking a moment to appreciate her tightness and the way she writhed beneath him.

The darkness was daunting now, swirling and screaming in his mind as urgency rushed through his synapse, he sped up, hastening towards the end of the dark tunnel. As the tension flushed out of his body and he pinned her down fully beneath his weight, he felt the pulse flutter and die beneath his fingers. 

He stood up, and carefully he righted her dress, rolled her over to make her decent, and then leaned down to kiss those cold, beautiful red lips one last time before he took the heart from her chest and lay it in her hands. 

This was his thank you letter.

“Not your typical rape and murder.” Z brushed past him to take a photo, oblivious to the grimace that spread over Will’s face as he was torn sharply out of the experience. The room was no longer dark, but lit up with large bulbs and filled with busy bodies, moving about like flies.

In front of him, lay the woman with her dark red lips, to match her dark red dress and the dark red heart she held in her cold dead hands. His skin felt clammy, his sweat drying in the cold night air that slipped in through an open window somewhere in the room. He watched Beverly lean down to have a look at the body.

“It was… a crime of passion, and gratitude.” Jack had come into the room now, his face etched into one of concern as he glanced at Will, before looking down at the victim. She wasn’t a prostitute, she lived here in this flat. Chances we’re they could find her ID by simply checking for a laptop.

“Gratitude?” Jimmy looked curiously over at Will, his eyes we’re skeptical, but of everyone in the room at the moment, he seemed the most eager to understand what Will had _felt_ , though Jack spared him a curious looks as well.

“He was, um, thanking her.” A sickness was spread over his stomach, his head felt foggy, like a coastline at night, a rich swirling darkness clogging up his head. He didn’t feel good. Or more specifically, he didn’t feel like he was completely present in the current moment.

“Thanking her for the good time?” Sarcasm dripped from Beverly’s lips as she carefully inspected the heart, it’s thick blood oozing across her red dress and down her hands, cold now, but so very much real, as though it would begin beating once more the second everyone left. “He left the heart intact. I mean it’s still all hooked up. Chances are she lived after he removed it. But she didn’t fight him.”

“She was unconscious.” mutter Will, ignoring the worried look she gave him at the sincerity in his voice. A thousand drums tolled in his head and he began to plan his exit route from the home. Jack’s heavy eyes kept him from fleeing. 

He could still hear her silent screams. He scratched his palm; he could still feel her pulse beneath his fingers. There was adrenaline in his gut and slow sickening heat crawling under his skin like ants.

“Our killer doesn’t know _who he is_. The only time he feels like himself is when he has sex, _makes a connection_ , but he always fails in the end, he ends up suffocating them. Still, he’s feels, _sympathetic_. Cleaning them up, giving them their hearts to hold, he’s thanking them.” 

He shook his head and felt for his familiar friend in his pocket, twisting off the red cap and popping several pills down his throat, an attempt to ease the ever writhing head-ache that was beginning to rear it’s ugly head beneath his scalp.

He turned away from the scene, and the mildly worried faces that we’re gazing up at him and began to make his way from the apartment, only to be stopped by Jack’s hand on his shoulder and concerned eyes peering through his own like daggers.

“Will where’s your head?” There was an ounce of concern there, but Jack was worried about the case, not Will. Jack had given him an exit, and he had stayed, now he was here to work for Jack, regardless of the consequences he himself faced. 

He just didn’t have it in him tonight to hold up the flag and continue to work. Not tonight, he felt dreary, his mind was clouded and full and he felt sick. His blood felt like it was boiling beneath his skin as an unimaginable heat seeped through his body, filling him.

“I’m not feeling well. I told you what you needed to know Jack. Your looking for a male, possibly with dissociative identity disorder, or sadistic tendencies. His DNA’s going to be all over her. He didn’t get what he wanted out of her, he failed, so he’s going to try again, so match the DNA and track him down. He’s not worried about getting caught, right now all he’s worried about is his mind. He’s at war with himself.”

With that, he slipped out from under Jack’s hand and made his way down the grimy cement stairwell, the spray paint graffiti on the wall imitating a thousand giant spiders, crawling down from the gloom after him. He made his way to his car, and then sat there behind the wheel, his head pounding. He thought he saw the darkness creeping through his eyes, and then, a warm, comforting blackness wrapped around him, coiling in his mind, and lulling him into a quiet place.

/.\

Boccherini’s stradivari-violoncello filled the room with it’s majesty, curling and coiling through the dim air of the office, seeking him, even as he stood upon the balcony, peering down at one of the books that lived there. A beautiful artifact of brown leather and curious characters that we’re certainly not English in nature. 

The room was full of warmth from the cracking fire, and the glowing lights cast creeping shadows across the red wall, and over the hardwood floor. It was a knock at the door, one that he had barely heard over the cello’s, that pulled him from his relaxing evening. However it was expected.

7 o’ clock, on the dot. He made his way down the ladder, after putting the book back to bed, and made his way to the door, buttoning up his suit jacket, as he invited Will in. Dark grey eyes stared blankly back at him when he opened the door, unseeing, bathed in shadows and turmoil.

There was a difference about Will that made Hannibal adjust his posture. A tickle of his predatory nature writhed down his spin as he returned the rare eye contact, peering curiously into the eyes, eager to swallow up all that he could see. 

Will stepped into the room and the click of the door hung in the air as it sounded between the notes of Boccherini. Will made his way toward the grey leather chair, the one that faced the door, but he did not sit. Instead he stood there, next to it, as though it we’re one of his loyal strays, his eyes cast in Hannibal’s direction.

“How are you this evening Will?” The tension that clouded the air didn’t cease, so Hannibal made his way to his own chair, settling down into it, trying to relax his posture, but a curiosity was filling him then, for Will had not stopped looking at him, his eyes, windows to stormy seas, staring into Hannibal as though he we’re a vessel that needed filling.

It was curious, and encouraging.

“Particularly detached.” Will’s voice was rough and deep, as though a hand was seizing his throat and squeezing it, taming vocal cords and esophagus alike, pinching them shut beneath a powerful grip. It was, intriguing.

“Have you just come from a crime scene?” Hannibal noted the smell on Will, there was blood there, and perfume. So unless Will had just murdered a woman, he was coming from a crime scene where a woman had infact been murdered. 

“Yes.”

“Tell me about the killer.” Hannibal folded his hands neatly upon his lap, crossing one leg over the other, his pant cuff slipping up to his ankle, revealing dark black socks and expensive shoes the color of a deer’s untanned pelt. His eyes observing Will as he stood there, staring back.

Will clicked his jaw a couple of times before setting it and then he closed his eyes, releasing Hannibal as he seemed to stare in at himself, his words coiled off his tongue to fill the room like an untrustworthy snake, posed to bite. His voice was foreign and it seemed as though it did not belong to him.

“He raped a young woman. He had a lapse in judgment and ended up killing her.” 

“How did he feel?” There was something there, something small and gleaming, and Hannibal wanted to split it open and see what poured out. So much effort had gone into his _little project_. It felt re-assuring to see Will like this, a darkness spreading through him. Hannibal had already made one assessment of this interaction, Will wasn’t really here. At least not the Will everyone else saw, not the one _he_ normally saw. he was seeing the other side of the coin, a side rife with dark tendencies, just waiting to be nurtured. 

“He felt…” there was a shiver in Will voice then, his eyes slipping open to stare once more at his psychiatrist with a predatory look that Hannibal only ever saw, truly, in the mirror. A look he understood, that he _knew_ and knew well. “I felt powerful, in control. I, he, could think clearly, and see himself.”

Hannibal stood up and made his way to his desk. Will was so close to action Hannibal could taste it in the air. Sparks of adrenaline, sharp in his nose. All Will needed was a push. So he moved to the desk. His intention simple, he needed to get Will moving. Right now he was frozen there, locked next to the smokey leather chair. He turned his back on Will in an effort to spur his body into action.

Sometimes even the greatest, most ingenious planners face a lapse in judgment. Hannibal did not expect Will to react the way he did, none the less, his surprise was not rife with anger, but satisfaction as he felt, an uncharacteristic ferocity in Will as he shoved him down upon the desk, his face pinned to the sleek wood. For a moment, he was glad of his own tidiness, for the scalpel was at the other end of the surface, a safe distance away for the moment.

He wasn’t sure when it had happened, not that he was feeling particularly protective, but Will had one hand holding his head down and the other had one of his arms around his back at quite the painful angle.

Will’s weight was settled over him, covering him, claiming him. As Hannibal peered over his shoulder, as much as he could, beneath the dusty blonde hair that now fell across his eyes he could see Will there, just staring at him.

He could almost see Will’s mind battling with itself, but it was this new darkness that seemed to win. He felt the young man push against him, and a hardness was shoved against Hannibal that was unmistakable in it’s nature.

Excitement rushed under his skin as he continued to peer back at Will, daring him silently to continue and saw the shadows of the dim light of the room spreading darkness across Will’s face. 

The hand holding his head down pressed harder and Hannibal had to re-adjust his stance to alleviate some of the pressure growing against his cheek, spreading his legs a bit to lower his body, affectingly displaying himself to Will as well.

His arm was released then, but only so that Will could reach around and unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, pulling them down hard, instant worry for the garment flogging Hannibal mind as he did his best to squirm his hips to free the fabric faster, terrified it might rip. He counted his stars when they slipped down to his ankles unharmed, unfazed as his expensive black boxer-briefs followed.

He was now completely exposed to Will, who still had a hungry, predatory look dancing in his eyes. It felt like madness. A madness accented by the flutter of cellos in the background and the heat of the raging, waring fire nearby. 

He felt the hand move from the back of his head, fingers sliding across his scalp, down past his ear, fluttering against his cheek as it wrapped around, settling across his throat, a pressure steadying itself there, bearing down on his jugular, robbing him of some of his air. 

He couldn’t see Will now, but the fluttering of pain at the base of his neck and the unmistakable firm heat he suddenly felt against his cold skin assured him that Will had not faltered. He felt the head of Will’s cock press against him, it’s warmth, excruciating and sure.

When he pushed in, it was not kind. There was no love there, but love was not something Hannibal had been expecting. Instead it was raw, and animal. Will clawed hard at his hip and his teeth had somehow found the back of his neck, clamping down, sinking deep, threatening to rip through delicate flesh and slip through to his muscle and bone.

The hand around his throat seized as well, but despite all of these distractions, the sheer pain swarmed his minds and bled out his throat as he couldn’t help the soft, strangled cry that slipped out from under Will’s hand as his cock shoved it’s way inside of him, spreading him without care.

He was not thankful then, when Will stopped moving, settling himself deep inside Hannibal’s body, stock still, as if waiting for him to scream again. He felt like he’d been torn apart, the pain was nearly unbearable and he felt angry at himself when drops of liquid pooled in the corners of his eyes, his own penis relativity unfazed by Will’s raw desire as it remained limp.

Hannibal then asserted himself, focusing hard on breathing and counting the seconds that Will remained still, letting the pain swell and build inside his gut. 

_’76…77...78...79…’_

Finally Will withdrew, with such speed Hannibal nearly gagged, and he couldn’t help his body’s response as his abused entrance spasmed as Will completely removed himself from his psychiatrists ass. The moment barely lasted a second though, before Will was thrusting in again, sinking himself into Hannibal’s body with enough force and depth that an exotic curse slipped from Hannibal’s mouth then, the hand still seized tight around his throat.

Will was growling in his ear, it was so bloody uncharacteristic that Hannibal couldn’t help the way the heat seemed to drain from his head down to his crotch just from hearing that low, animalistic noise leave dear, sweet, innocent and abused Will.

Finally, _finally_ , Will began thrusting properly. He sank his cock in and out of Hannibal as fast as he possibly could while making every thrust count from tip to balls. The speed didn’t matter to him though, for every single thrust was deep and fulfilling and left Hannibal’s body writhing for more. His own cock had woken up now and was heavy between his legs, dripping lightly with precum. Will was so bloody deep inside of him, and his brutal treatment left Hannibal stinging with pain every time he withdrew, but it was so sweet. It felt so good.

It wasn’t so much pleasure that he was feeling, though he certainly was feeling that, but it was the fact that it was Will who was, essentially raping him. Will. Poor dear Will who was on a regular basis mentally abused by such low life's as Jack. Sweet Will, who mopped about how Abigail didn’t return his fatherly love. Innocent Will who trembled when he reflected on the sad broken faces of victims. 

This wasn’t dear sweet Will though. This was Hannibal’s Will. His _project_. This was the Will he’d been working on for months, fashioning his hidden tendencies into the weapons they were, nurturing the dark parts of his mind, to let them flourish. 

This was _his_ Will.

And his Will was biting his neck again, hard as his hand clawed at Hannibal’s hip once more, his cock sinking deep as he paused there for a moment, before sharply drawing himself almost completely out and began fucking the head of his dick in and out of Hannibal’s body, barely sinking in as he snapped his hips. It was unsatisfactory in it’s nature, yet arousal spread through him and Hannibal couldn’t help the husky groan that left his lips as he tried to press back against Will’s erection, slick now with blood and precum.

Will bit down harder then. Maybe it was a warning. Maybe it wasn’t. All Hannibal knew was that those teeth we’re breaking through skin and a cry was leaving him that he was ashamed of. His pale flesh snapped under those sharp teeth and he could feel them sinking further, branding the underlaying muscle. Blood must have filled Will’s mouth then, for thick drops rolled down his neck and dripped onto the sweet red wood of the desk.

And fuck, did it feel amazing. He was a sadist, of course, but he had always been aware of a slight, underlaying masochistic tendency, and here it was being laid out like a fucking table cloth for Will to shred up.

Will kept thrusting annoyingly, achingly shallow, abusing his ass to hell and back before he snapped his hips, drawing himself out completely once more. This time Hannibal anticipated it, and couldn’t relax himself fast enough. He ended up clenching as Will thrust into him. This time it was Will’s turn to moan, guttural and deep into Hannibal’s ear as his entire cock was squeezed all the way to his heavy balls, gripped tight inside Hannibal’s unbelievably warm body. 

The sound was so incredibly erotic and despite the recoiling pain in his gut, he felt arousal pulse through his own cock, causing it to flex against his stomach, pressing it’s weeping head to his skin as Will once more resumed thrusting deep into him. 

The hand had become noticeably tighter now, and all Hannibal was able to gain were thin streams of air as he focused on breathing. Trying to set aside his pleasure for his need to survive as Will thrust hard, beginning to loose his rhythm as he snapped his hips in and out of Hannibal’s body. 

There was another growl in his ear, the hand tightening sharply around his throat, cutting off all his air as Will withdrew the entire way, before, one final time, sinking his hard cock into Hannibal, ramming himself in as deep as he possibly could as he bred him. 

The hand loosened around his throat then, just as Hannibal had begun to see spotty blackness, and he was able to relax, his own cock spasming hard as he felt the humbling warmth of Will’s cum spreading inside of him, filling him up, marking him. It felt not only incredibly intimate, but also incredibly satisfying as Will fully branded him with the evidence of his darkness.

Will was more passive now and Hannibal moved from the desk, ignoring the painful bruises already forming where his hips had ground against the edge of the desk. He took a moment to enjoy the slip of Will’s cock as it left his abused body, cum dripping down his balls and thighs. He turned around then to face Will, a foggy look clouding the man’s blue eyes. He then he sank to his knees and greedily swallowed Will’s cock, taking him down his throat, bathing his tongue in Will’s cum and the taste of his own blood.

He felt those hands, the hands that had nearly taken his life away from him, slip into his hair then, and tighten as Will took control once again, evidentially, his head not quite clear yet as he snapped his hips and pulled Hannibal to his crotch, shoving his cock down his tight throat. He gagged at the intrusion but Will’s uncaring hands held him there before he began fucking Hannibal’s skull with renewed vigor, evidently not suffering the effects of the refractory period in his current state.

Hannibal adjusted his angle as best he could, happily opening his throat up to the heavy heat of Will’s cock, the taste of blood and cum now long gone, having slipped down his throat to reside in his belly. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long this time as Will shoved himself down Hannibal throat once more and held himself there, nestling his fucktoy’s nose against his crotch as he pumped Hannibal’s gut full of cum, carefully and slowly suffocating him with the thickness of his twitching cock.

It lasted too long and Hannibal began to feel the side effects of air deprivation taking hold as he struggled to remain conscious. Black dots began to spread through his vision and his head felt heavy.

As he began to feel himself collapse Will’s flesh slipped out of his mouth and there we’re warm hands on his shoulders.

/.\

“Doctor Lecter!?”

A soft, gently urging cry clawed him out of the darkness and as his vision cleared he found himself staring into two bright blue eyes, stricken with fear and self-loathing. There was blood on Will’s lips and chin Hannibal noted.

“Oh god….. I’m… I'm so sorry.” Will had already tucked himself back in, but now he was worriedly fixing Hannibal’s hair, a hilariously innocent and useless gesture. As he slowly regained control of his body, the air rushed back into his lungs and he stood up, with the help of Will. He nearly collapsed then, his knees screamed at him, his calves ached and his ass… well.

He could feel the blood slick between his thighs as he carefully stepped out of his pants, folding them up, more worried about bleeding on the fabric than anything else as he glanced curiously at Will who was staring at him with a look that suggested he was currently horrified with himself. 

“It’s alright.”

“No, no it’s not! Oh god, what have I done? You’re bleeding.” It was the understatement of a lifetime, accented by the blood still on Will’s lips from the back of his neck. Of course Will seemed to be missing the fact that Hannibal’s legs were splattered with thick drops of his own cum. Instead of calming down, Will seemed like he was about three seconds away from another mental breakdown.

“Will, it’s alright. Why don’t you go home? I’m ok.” Hannibal cooed softly. He really didn’t feel capable of dealing with Will right now. Being in his presence was only damaging Will more, undoing the good this night had done. He needed Will to leave so he could plan how to solidify tonight's lesson in Will’s mind.

Luckily, the young man seemed susceptible to suggestion and nodded meekly as Hannibal showed him to the door, his dress shirt the only thing covering up his lower extremities at this point, since he had folded his pants and left them at the desk. To an onlooker, the entire scene would have looked gruesomely hysterical. 

/.\

Will hadn’t slept all night. Of course he fucking hadn’t. He’d sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, surrounded by his counsel of strays, trying to figure out how he’d gone from sitting in his car outside a crime scene, to waking up holding his therapists head down on his cock, suffocating him. 

He spent the evening running through it again and again, trying to figure out where exactly he’s take a sideways step into hell, all while trying to ignore his growing erection as he tried to eliminate the pleasure, he’d felt upon waking up, from the memory he was recalling repeatedly. 

By 7:30 in the morning he’d still not managed to figure out where or even why the jump had happened. Instead, at around 5 he had begun trying to figure out how exactly he was going to right this situation. He’d settled on the fact that he now needed to move, change his name, et cetera.

“I raped my therapist and nearly killed him.” He scolded Winston who was blinking at him with little care for how his human was getting on mentally. “He’ll definitely be un-rubber stamping me. And then what? Jack’s going to ask why I’m suddenly not cleared for work.” A look of horror spread across his face then as he stared at the dog. “Oh god… What if Doctor Lecter tells Jack what I did!?”

He shoved his hand over his face and tried to work it through again. How the hell was he going to fix this?

/.\

All Will could think was how Hannibal standing here at the door, with breakfast, was no longer such a worrying blurring of professional boundaries. He didn’t so much invite him in as shrink back into the darkness of his home and let Hannibal walk through the door.

Despite the fact that he was wearing a scarf, which upon removal revealed a pad of gauze tapped to the back of his neck, he looked to be relatively fine and in high spirits. He smiled kindly at Will as he took his jacket and scarf, placing them on a nearby chair so methodically he felt for a moment like he was a robot.

Then they sat at the little table by the window and Will felt like the most awkward person in the world as he watched his rape-victim pour him coffee and serve him eggs scrambled. 

Hannibal smiled and began to eat, just letting the silence hang there like a cloud until finally Will felt himself break. His words came out like a rush, and it felt so patchy and pulled together he would have been surprised had he made a lick of sense at all.

“Oh god, I'm so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I was at the crime scene and I wasn’t feeling good, the damn headaches and I had some aspirin and I think maybe I took too much or something, I wasn’t thinking straight and oh god, next thing I knew we were there and you weren't breathing and oh god I’m so sorry I don’t even know what to say…” he ended up with his hands in his hair, his head bent to look at his lap and his shoulders slumped.

He didn’t want to see Hannibal’s face. He was so terrified by what he might see. Hannibal was the only one who had ever looked at him like he wasn’t crazy. If he saw judgment in Hannibal’s eyes now… it would break his heart. 

When he peeked through his fingers, Hannibal wasn’t sitting across from him and for one horrified moment he thought maybe he’d imagined he was there and just had a conversation with himself. But then a warm hand was on his shoulder and he turned to come face to face with Hannibal, who was crouched down in front of him so they we’re nearly on eye level.

He took Will’s wrists quietly and pulled them away from his face, setting them in his lap before cupping his cheek gently. 

“It’s ok.” 

His voice was firm, his gaze unwavering and then, just as Will began to open his mouth to apologize again Hannibal had leaned forwards and was kissing him, the kiss just as firm as his voice. It was delicious and invasive and Will became butter as he let his mouth go slack, inviting the warm, seeking tongue.

He felt like Hannibal was trying to devour him, the heat of the kiss spread under his skin and crawling into his lap, waking up the erection he’d been battling all morning. Then, just as his breath began to run dry, Hannibal broke the kiss, leaning in towards his ears.

A deep, heavily accented, voice tinted with arousal crept into his mind then and invaded his headspace, forever taking up residence there. 

“I enjoyed it.” 

Then Hannibal pulled away, smiling at him in an innocent manner, as he sat down across from him and once more, began eating his breakfast and sipping at his expensive, luxurious coffee, peering at Will with that little smile.

Will felt all his worries being swept out of his mind as he picked up his fork and thoughtfully gazing at the wonderful man sitting across from him, took a bite of sausage.


End file.
